


the hand that feeds

by wintervioleteye (hawkguyed)



Series: rien ne pèse tant que un secret [3]
Category: Casino Royale (2006), Hannibal (TV), James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Implied Cannibalism, M/M, amiright or amiright, everything is people, gdi hannibal, james stop, lecter is psychoanalyzing again, no james, so many implications, stop feeding people questionable things, two killers being fond and indulgent of their partners, what dynamic have i done, word association games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-22
Updated: 2013-05-22
Packaged: 2017-12-12 15:34:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/813165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawkguyed/pseuds/wintervioleteye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Across the table, Hannibal spears a potato and deftly slices it in half. The movement is graceful yet economic, and Bond can appreciate the clinicality of the action. Like the draw of a wire across a throat, the pull of a trigger. </i>
</p>
<p>James Bond meets Hannibal Lecter for dinner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the hand that feeds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skylights](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skylights/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I know nothing about wine and pairing wine. Name of wine (yes, that is an actual wine) is googled from the year, and how readily available it is, I haven't the faintest clue. 
> 
> Continuation from [come into my parlour (said the spider to the fly)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/813067). 
> 
> Also, because Skylights has been somehow inspiration and driving force behind this, so. I would toast you, but I don't think you'd appreciate being cooked so instead, have a virtual glass of wine.

"Do you have someone?" The question comes as Bond places a neatly cut slice of well seasoned meat into his mouth 

It's a question meant to catch him while he's off guard, so Bond rather politely chooses to chew and swallow before offering a smile, lifting the wineglass to his lips. Wine is not his usual fare, but the good doctor had insisted, a 1930 Barolo Mirafiore that had caught Bond's attention with the flavors wafting up from the glass.*

MI6 has enough psychiatrists and Bond has played enough games with them. 

Bond thinks of Q, messy hair and large glasses, eyes shining and grinning wickedly when he cracks a new code open. 

"It's complicated," he finally offers. Not quite a lie but also not entirely the truth. They are complicated, his job adding more unforeseeable factors that make putting a label to this /thing/ they have far harder. 

"So you do have someone special, yet there is distance between you, is there not?" 

Across the table, Hannibal spears a potato and deftly slices it in half. The movement is graceful yet economic, and Bond can appreciate the clinicality of the action. Like the draw of a wire across a throat, the pull of a trigger. 

"Miles, in fact." Bond quips, the amused glint in his eyes betraying his seriousness. Q is sitting safely ensconced in MI6, overlord of Q branch and probably terrifying his minions, come to think of it. "We have... different specialities. And yourself? An accomplished doctor, surely you have someone?" 

Hannibal pauses. "William is a very fascinating soul, if I do say so. The way he teeters, requiring just the right touch." 

An indulgent look settles onto Lecter's features. Bond recognizes it vaguely, from the glimpses in mirrors when Q is sprawled on the king-size bed beside him, and from that one time watching Lecter with his floppy-haired FBI agent. 

“He must be lucky, having you to guide him,” Bond remarks before he turns his attention to his food. It is never good table manners to neglect a meal prepared so graciously by his host, after all. 

Across the table, Hannibal smiles, and it’s like looking a predator in the eyes. 

Anyone else might have felt uncomfortable seated with Hannibal Lecter, but there is a part of Bond that follows the age old adage of birds of a feather flocking together. Two dangerous men, dining in a perfectly kept house. 

Around them, the sounds of Vivaldi swell, not entirely unpleasant but lending an almost ominous feeling to the room. 

It’s in his bones; something does not feel right. 

Bond can't quite put his finger on it, his mind unable to decide what is it that has him a little more on edge than usual. 

He looks at the meal neatly set out in front of him. It's plated with a perfection that would put some of the chefs he's encountered to shame, not a stray sprig of green out of place, meat done to absolute perfection. The table is impeccable as well, looking for all the world like it had been printed right out of a movie set.

Everything is too perfect. 

"Something on your mind, Mr. Bond?" 

Hannibal has apparently finished his meal, his utensils set neatly down beside his now-empty plate. The man has excellent table manners, which makes for a rather companionable dinner partner, and Bond feels the need to keep up. His own plate is almost empty, and Bond decisively finishes off the final slice of meat. 

“Just my thanks for the wonderful meal.” The utensils are placed down with a barely audible clink, the napkin swiping away a trace of sauce that had smeared along Bond’s lip. 

The curl of Lecter’s lips is terrifying. “Not at all, Mr. Bond. After all, my other guest simply did not have the heart for it.”

**Author's Note:**

> The pun had to be made. I regret nothing.


End file.
